


An Errand for the New Blood

by AbleG



Series: The Dragonborn Comes [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 05:58:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbleG/pseuds/AbleG
Summary: Eorlund Grey-mane is working late into the evening on several projects he needs to catch up on. He is then surprised by a late night visitor. It seems Vilkas has been giving him a difficult time, as usual, so Eorlund offers his visitor some friendly advice.





	An Errand for the New Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for being patient while I work on life. See, my computer died on me a week ago. I did get the warranty so I will be able to replace it for free... buuuut.... I won't be getting the new one for another week and a half. I've been writing on my phone with a Bluetooth keyboard. Not ideal but it's better than nothing. Enjoy this filler while I edit the next chapter that has much more action and such in it. It will be out soon because I feel bad for my unplanned hiatus.

The night air was cold in Skyrim, especially in the windswept valley where Whiterun was seated. The cold air from the mountains would blow down into the more hospitable landscape from time to time, causing late spring snows and summer cold snaps. Making a living here was hard, as it was everywhere in Skyrim. At least, it was for most folks. Here, beside the robust fires of the Skyforge, Eorlund Gray-mane need not be troubled by the snow or the cold. The flames kept him warm and his family well-fed. The only possible downside was that he was constantly working them. Tempering iron and steel into armor and weapons was a long and daunting task. Luckily, he was not the only blacksmith in Whiterun who was up to the task. Adrianne Avenicci kept to her forge and lightened his workload considerably, but never once posed him a financial threat. Nor he to her. Their forges were located in the city of Whiterun, the Heart of Skyrim. Travelers, soldiers, and mercenaries from all over would come to Whiterun for all manner of errands. There was never a lack of business. Especially not in these politically tense days. Adrianne was a skilled blacksmith that Eorlund could say knew metalworking better than most men he had known. Still, Eorlund was a busy man with more than enough projects and commissions lined up.

It was for this reason that he was working so late into the night this evening. Tragedy had befallen his family when his son, Thorald, had left home to join the ranks of the Stormcloaks but had failed to return. There were no messages of his death in battle. He had simply disappeared without a trace. Of course, this did tend to happen in the unforgiving lands of the wild north, but there were suspicions and rumors of foul play. Eorlund did not wish to get too far involved, but his wife refused to give up her belief that it was the fault of the Battle-Borns, Whiterun’s other great family. Once friends and allies with the Gray-Manes, the Battle-Borns had taken the side of the Empire after the Great War while the Gray-Manes remained loyal to Skyrim. The rift between the two families grew as the rift in Skyrim had, and now they were sworn enemies. It was for this reason that Eorlund’s wife, Fralia, held fast to the idea that the Battle-Borns had been the ones to kidnap their son.

Whatever the reason, their son was still missing. Dead for all they could possibly know. Losing a child was not such a foreign thing in these lands, especially in this time after war and before a surely imminent second war. The pain of losing a child was still devastating. It left the heart empty and sick. Children were not meant to die before their parents. So Eorlund and Fralia had grieved for their son. Despite the demand for Eorlund’s masterful work at the forge, all had excused him to mourn his child. For that, he was at least grateful. It had taken an extra burden from his shoulders to know that others cared and understood enough not to pester him to fix their chipped swords or dented shields. Not even Adrianne complained about how much work had been put onto her and her husband while the Gray-Manes paid the proper respects for Thorald. But Eorlund still had a job to do.

Back at his forge, it was easier to push his loss out of his mind and allow the hypnotic breathing of the fire and the shower of sparks to occupy his mind. The sound of his ceaseless hammer pounding away rang through his body and made him forget for a short time. This was what he was made to do. One of his first projects back at the Skyforge was to repair Aela’s shield. Not that it was any of Eorlund’s business, but he had a suspicion from how much of Aela’s battle equipment needed repairing that she was doing some sort of extra hunting on the side of her normal Companion duties. It was not his place to question her, or to bring it up with Kodlak. He and the Harbinger were good friends, but Eorlund was not a Companion. Their business was their own, and each man and women his or her own. So he had settled down to repairing the damage done to her shield without pressing her for answers.

Eorlund stood to stoke the fires of the Skyforge; heating them to return part of Aela’s shield to the flames to make it more pliable once the air had cooled it too much. As the gentle breathing of the bellows replaced the sound of ringing hammer, Eorlund could hear footsteps coming up the stairs of the Skyforge. He inclined his head to see who was visiting him at this hour of the night.

A young, troubled man stopped at the last step. He was surprised to have been met with Eorlund’s attentive stare, and looked off to the side in a nervous fashion. The man, not more than 30 years old, was new to Eorlund. He had not seen him in Whiterun before. It was indeed strange to see travelers wandering around Whiterun passed usual business hours.

The stranger seemed disinclined to greet himself, so Eorlund spoke up first. He came off more impatient that he had intended to. Something was clearly distracting the man. “What brings you here?”

The man looked over at Eorlund again, looking rather embarrassed of himself for not having greeted Eorlund in any way. 

“Oh. Forgive me-....” The man apologized quickly, holding a sword out for Eorlund to see. Eorlund looked at it for a moment before the man spoke up. “Vilkas sent me with his sword.”

Eorlund’s eyes lit up and he nodded in understanding. “I’m guessing you’re the newcomer then?”

“How did you know? I only just arrived here this evening.” The man said, stepping forward to hand the sword to Eorlund now that he knew he was welcome here and not interrupting anything.

“I heard the sounds of a scuffle in the yard below.” Eorlund took the sword and pulled it halfway out of its sheath to inspect the damages. As he suspected, this was not truly one of Vilkas’s swords. It was one of the dulled training blades that Vilkas had made the prospective Companion bring to assert his dominance over the new blood. “Had it been a regular training session, it would have lasted much longer with Vilkas stopping to drill you on proper technique and stance.”

The newcomer nodded slowly as he watched Eorlund slide the blade back into the sheath and set it aside.

“What is your name, new blood?” Eorlund asked the man. He had a sense that the newcomer would be sticking around. Vilkas would not have wasted time making sure that anyone new had an understanding of rank in the Companions had this man not had enough potential to join. 

“Airgiod.” The man said as his eyes slowly traveled to the Skyforge. The flames danced off of the man’s blue eyes in a strange way, as though they were not simply reflected there, but his eyes contained a fire of their own. He seemed reverent of the forge and could not look away.

“Well met. I am-”

Airgiod interrupted him quickly. “You are Eorlund Gray-Mane, the master of the Skyforge and the greatest blacksmith in all of Skyrim.” He then paused and smiled apologetically. “Forgive me, it’s just an honor to meet you. Alvor in Riverwood began my training in the art of smithing, and he spoke very highly of your work, as does everyone I’ve met so far.”

“Ah, so you’re a prospective smith as well?” Eorlund raised an eyebrow in interest and approval. “That’s good to hear. Many of the Companions here don’t know the first thing about forging a blade, much less repairing one.”

Eorlund raised the blade that Airgiod was asked to deliver to prove his point. Airgiod breathed a single laugh, a warm and personable smile spreading across his face for an instant, but it faded almost as quickly.

“Does Vilkas always send newcomers on errands?” Airgiod asked carefully. He chose his words in case they might bring any offense. Eorlund noted the care that he took, but it was unnecessary. It was all part of the mind games Vilkas so dearly loved to play with people at times.

“Oh, don’t worry too much about it.” Eorlund reassured Airgiod. He then looked down at the hall of Jorrvaskr. Airgiod followed his eyes and looked upon the view of the town as well. A few Companions remained outside, not yet ready to turn in for the evening. Torvar was slouched in one of the seats, a bottle of mead in his hand as he muttered and joked with himself. Ria was getting last minute exercises in with one of the straw dummies. Despite the anxiety that Airgiod faced about being the newcomer, Eorlund had been around long enough to know that Airgiod’s presence was not as perilous as Airgiod himself worried. “They were all whelps once. They just might not like to talk about it.”

Airgiod nodded in understanding. Eorlund saw how easily the young man had taken in his words. Not many Nords, much less Companions, ever seemed to take just anyone’s words to heart. This was both a breath of fresh air and a warning sign. If this man was too soft, he would not last long in this crew of rough and tumble men and women. He was young and full of curiosity about the world around him, and willing to try new challenges from what Eorlund could tell. He only needed a nudge in the right direction.

“And don’t always do what you’re told. Nobody rules anybody in the Companions.” Eorlund said.

Airgiod looked astonished by this news, which was to be expected after spending any time at all with Vilkas. “Someone has to be in charge, though…”

“Well, I’m not sure how they’ve managed it, but they have. No leaders since Ysgramor.” Eorlund crossed his arms as he commented. Sensing Airgiod’s next question before it was even asked, Eorlund continued. “Kodlak is the Harbinger, and he’s a sort of advisor for the whole group, but every man is his own. Every woman, her own.”

Airgiod thought on this, and Eorlund was pleased to see that a new sense of understanding was coming to the young man. Kodlak had chosen well to let this newcomer try to work his way into the Companions.

“It’s getting late, and I’m keeping you from your work. I should probably leave.” Airgiod said, inclining his head politely and gratefully towards Eorlund by way of farewell.

“Before you do, I have a favor to ask.” Eorlund instructed Airgiod to wait a little while longer. 

“What is it?” Airgiod asked as he stood patiently and waited for Eorlund to elaborate further. Eorlund noted how much of a change had already come over Airgiod just from their talk, which was a good sign. There was no longer a sense of mindless obedience to Airgiod’s actions. He stood there not because he was ordered to, but because he chose to. He was beginning to understand and form what the Companions meant to him. Good. This was the foundation on which this aimless wanderer could finally begin to grow. 

“I’ve been working on a shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning and I need to get back to her soon. I would be much obliged if you could take this to Aela for me.” Eorlund explained as he pulled the finished shield from its resting place against the forge. He had not put much thought into his story. It became clear that this was a mistake as soon as he saw the look of distress on Airgiod’s face. “Our son disappeared while on his way to join the Stormcloak army.”

Airgiod’s face fell into an empathetic frown before he could reign back himself back. “By the Divines, I’m so sorry for your family’s loss…”

Eorlund expected the standard apology, having heard it as many times as he had already. Enough times for it to lose it’s meaning for him. He did not expect the amount of understanding and sorrow behind Airgiod’s voice. After returning to work, most people had avoided the topic of Thorald. This allowed Eorlund to distance himself from it to some degree. When Airgiod spoke as though it was not only a recent occurrence, but that he himself was wounded by the loss, it opened something in Eorlund’s heart. The pain returned, but so did a strange sense of hope. Why in the name of Arkay, Eorlund should feel hope in a time like this, he could not comprehend. He simply gritted his teeth and nodded sternly to show his thanks.

“I’m happy to lend a hand.” Airgiod said, taking the shield and hurrying off with it. He was perceptive enough not to bother Eorlund more than he already had, and left him to his work. Eorlund watched the young man rush back down the steps and through the yard to Jorrvaskr, disquieted by the encounter. At first glance, Airgiod seemed as any other traveler. Nothing different about him. Now, Eorlund was unsure. Airgiod was odd, of that there was no doubt, but Eorlund now found himself intrigued by the young man. Something in the way the wind from the ancient mountains of Skyrim put a chill to his skin told him that this man was indeed one to watch. His story was just about to unfold, and what a story it might be.


End file.
